Running Through the Electric Storm
by Akiry
Summary: ((This scene takes place during the lightning storm from chapter 24 of The Scorch Trials, and is from Newt's POV, with added Minewt at the end.)) As Newt tries his best to reach the shelter in time, his limp grows worse and his worry for his life increases. He barely notices Minho missing until he spots Thomas dragging him to safety.


**This takes place during chapter 24 of The Scorch Trials (the lightning storm scene)**

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As the gladers sprinted across the sand, a roar erupted from the sky, and when Newt glanced upwards he saw the dark clouds ahead illuminate with light. Streaks of yellow began to light up the sky, and soon the beams began to strike the earth. Shard after shard hit the ground, reverberating so much that Newt could feel every strike under his feet.

He tried to hasten his pace, limping horribly now, chest heaving, face flushed and panting harshly as fear started to trickle up his spine. The sky grew darker as Newt and the gladers raced towards the building – their only hope of survival. They had only run about half the distance, and time was ticking. A bolt flashed by him and he jumped in surprise. As he tried to pick up his pace again, a pain started to grow in his side. It had been too long since he'd been a runner, and the racing had started to take its toll on him.

The wind churned around the gladers and soon Newt's vision was clouded by earth and haze. The tremendous storm roared in his ears and Newt fell deaf to the world around him, the jagged streaks of gold hitting the earth, creating the only sound to be heard. The bolts had tossed up swirling sand and earth into the air that got into his eyes, but he did not stop to clear them. Half-blinded by the sand, he could not help but let out a small cry as another streak shot by him and he tumbled to the ground.

Glader after glader ran by him as he struggled to regain his footing. He had landed badly on his poor leg and the pelting flashes around him did not help him get back to his feet. A rough hand tugged at his arm and pulled him harshly upwards. Newt caught a glimpse of brown hair and knew it was Thomas. After making sure he was stable, his friend ran past him, hurrying towards the shelter.

Newt took a step forwards and broke out into a run. His leg screamed in pain and his limp worsened by the second. Screwing his eyes shut, digging his fingernails into the palms of his hands, Newt sprinted as fast as he could. The shelter was barely visible now, as Newt could only see a couple of metres ahead of himself. The goal, seemingly unreachable, Newt focused on the gladers directly in front of him instead.

A bright light lit up in front of him, and Newt felt the force of it. He was thrown to the ground where he landed in a sprawl, this time on his back. He sat up tiredly but scrambled quickly to his feet when he saw the damage the bolt had created. A small crater was in front of him, and inside a boy; unidentifiable. The top half of his head had been blown off and blood oozed out of the gaping hole, colouring the earth in a rich, crimson red. Newt could tell from the way the boy's mouth was wrenched open that during his last moments he'd been screaming. Newt trembled as he stood, gazing down at the lifeless body of a boy he could not even identify. Judging by his small scale, he must have been one of the youngest gladers. Lucky to have made it this far.

Newt felt boil rise in his throat and he turned quickly away and stumbled hurriedly past the body. He did not dare open his mouth though he wanted to scream. His feet pelted the ground, though one was at a jaunty angle, and he dashed forwards as far as he could. He felt as though he must be nearing the old building now, but he couldn't say for sure. All he knew was that he had to gain shelter as quickly as possible, or he would surely die.

Another flash lit up near him, this time to his left and Newt turned his head just in time to see another boy fall to the earth. Newt stopped in his tracks. A little reluctantly, he hurried towards the boy. As he reached him, he recognised him – it was Jack, and the burst of lightning had missed him. Newt was filled with relief as he clumsily helped Jack back to his feet, but just as the boy was starting to regain his balance, another jagged spike came down from above and struck him hard.

The two were sent hurtling to the ground, and Newt screwed his eyes shut as the boy landed on top of him. Something wet began to trickle down Newt's arm and he could not help but push the boy off of him in alarm. He stared in horror as he realised what had happened: Jack's arm had been blasted off by the lightning bolt, leaving a stump behind. He stared down at his own arm and realised the wetness he'd felt was the other boy's blood.

The boy in front of him erupted into a writhing fit as he clutched at his stump. His mouth opened in a scream and Newt was glad that he could not hear it over the deafening roar of the electric storm. He stood up and tried to help the boy to his feet, but he was inconsolable. He hit at Newt's extended hand and swatted it away. Newt tried to help Jack to his feet again, but he only kicked him back, the pain driving him mad. Newt backed away and stared down at Jack in dismay. He turned round and saw the lightning advancing towards him. He looked ahead and saw more golden streaks hitting the earth.

Newt felt his throat tighten and his stomach turn.

Feet beating against the earth, ears deafened by the bolts, head and heart pounding in sync, Newt fled as fast as he could, not stopping for anyone any more. Around him, gladers fell, and some got back up. Others were left behind.

The building rose up from the ground in front of him like a giant. Now in sight, the goal seemed achievable, and Newt ran on aching legs towards his last hope. He saw Aris at the building, punching out the last shards of glass from the front door and hurrying gladers inside. As he got closer and closer to the shelter, hope rised in him, though his guilt for leaving Jack behind did not waver. But then he caught a glimpse out of the corner of his eye: Thomas. Newt wondered fleetingly how Thomas had ended up behind him again, and then he noticed that he was dragging someone with him.

Thomas tugged an almost lifeless figure along with him, absorbing the body's weight in his chest and in his shoulders, his arm wrapped around the person's waist whilst the other gripped the boy's arm round his shoulder. Newt's eyes grew large as he recognised the figure: Minho.

Newt changed direction and sprinted towards them, all but forgetting Jack and the shelter. He tried to call out, but his cry was swallowed by the storm. As he reached Minho, he skidded to a halt. Quickly, he lifted his friend's free arm and draped it round his shoulder, absorbing some of the weight for Thomas as they ran together towards the building. Thomas exchanged an exhausted yet thankful look with him.

Newt focused on Minho. His clothes were ripped and charred and the ends of his hair were singed. His cheeks were red with exhaustion and browned with dirt. His eyes were screwed tight and his eyebrows were furrowed in pain. As Newt held his arm tight around him, Minho's nails sunk into his shoulder. Newt swallowed down his fear and concentrated on the goal, looking ahead as they carried Minho towards the building. Aris stood in the entrance, his hands moving rapidly as he willed them to hurry. The bolts of the storm seemed to be getting closer and sparks of light danced around Newt's feet as they ran. Soon they were at the entrance, and Aris helped carry Minho through the open door as they laid him down carefully on the stone floor.

The building was gloomy and filled with shadows, and just as they all collapsed to the floor, the lightning came to an abrupt halt, as if a switch had been flicked, and a light rain started to fall from the clouds.

Newt glared at the clouds but quickly turned his attention to Minho, who lay sprawled on the floor of the old building, eyes still shut, panting heavily as though every breath sent a shiver of pain through his beaten body. Newt crawled forwards, settling down on his knees next to him. Thomas was nearby, slumped against the wall, legs apart, chest heaving, staring silently outside at the rain as he clutched at his upper body for support.

Newt bent over slightly and pushed the hair out of Minho's eyes and a shuddery hand met his own and held it there, ignoring the strain that creeped up his bad leg, pain tightening around his worked muscles. Wincing, Minho opened his eyes and stared up at Newt, his eyes flashing signs of relief, worry and pain all at once. Newt stooped over and softly kissed Minho on the forehead, tears coming to his eyes as he did so. He wiped his eyes with his free thumb as Minho held his other hand tightly, taking in deep, shuddery breaths. He twitched as he lay, and he coiled in on himself in a ball on the floor. Newt lay down next to him, not letting go of Minho's hand and facing him.

Minho gazed past Newt to Thomas and met his gaze. He nodded his head, and Thomas nodded back, smiling slightly. Then, Minho let out a deep sigh and turned his eyes on Newt. His eyelids fluttered tiredly but he seemed intent on keeping Newt's gaze. A small smile played on his lips as he continued to hold it. Slowly, exhaustion seeped through Minho's bones and he started to drift, though his twitching showed no signs of stopping.

Newt gazed at Minho's face as his friends continued to drift, dirty with earth and wet with sweat. Anger rose up his stomach as he thought about the people who had let this happen to him. His eyebrows furrowed and his grip around Minho's hand tightened. He lay there for several minutes, thinking hard about the people at WICKED and imagining what he'd do to them if he ever got the opportunity to show them.

'Ease up there,' Minho whispered quietly, his eyes opening tiredly as his met Newt's, each word sounding hoarse and pained, his voice all scratched, 'You're gonna squeeze my hand off.'

Newt lessened his grip on Minho's hand and focused on his breathing. He stared into Minho's eyes, tired and tortured after the ordeal he'd been through, yet they softened when they met Newt's. Minho closed his eyes and finally fell asleep, his twitching growing less violent and his breathing coming out less strong. And Newt gazed at him, thoughtful. And despite the concern that Newt felt for Minho's injuries, he could not help but smile slightly as he watched the rise and fall of Minho's chest. Newt allowed his eyes to close and he let out a sigh.

Despite all they had been through, they were still together. And they were alive.

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**Thanks for reading!**


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